Becoming a Guardian
by Bonnygirl10
Summary: Jack Frost doesn't who he is, or worse, who he was when he wakes from a coma in a town called Burgess. And having to learn who he is isn't exactly easy. Unexpectedly, however, a man named Nicholas St. North and his family called the Guardians offer to take Jack in. And suddenly a guy named Pitch pops up, determined to bring revenge to Jack and the Guardians wherever they go.
1. The beginning of the end

**A/N: Helllllo out there! Welcome young and all to my first Rise of the Guardians ****fanfiction!**

**Now, this story has been bouncing around my head for a while, and recently has been banging on the walls of my brain, calling to be released. So, after some serious thought and major editing, I have posted...THIS! **

**The Prologue to my story! DUN DUN DUNNNNN! **

**I really hope you all stick by me and enjoy the ride that is my story!**

**So here we go! **

**And remember... R&R to make us writers happy :)**

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own Rise of the Guardians, or the characters. Except for a particular nurse.**

The man stood bent down in front of the computer screen, his strange silver eyes lit up by the luminous light. It had been a long day at the hospital, and the man felt saddened by the amount of people trickling into the Emergency Center.

He was exhausted, and longed to return home, but there was work to be done.

He watched as the screen was lit up with a sign.

_Your download has been completed. _

_Moonshaft11 is now ready for removal. _

He sighed, and straightened up, groaning softly as he attempted to work all the kinks out of his back. Honestly, all this bending down was not good for his poor back.

But his attention was diverted when there was a soft _bleep-bleep _of a machine next to the computer, and he turned to see a small compartment of the machine opening.

It was a peculiar machine, with a screen imbedded in the face of the sleek, box like machine, and a metal draw sliding out of the base of the machine.

"At last" the man breathed. He took a step across the small room, aware of how his palms were sweating, and took a moment to breathe deeply.

He had seen the child's actions, and knew what he had done was worthy of such a choice. And he sensed a deep longing within the child, a longing to be loved, _accepted. _

And he would give it to him. Even if it came at a heavy price.

_Do it! Do it now! The child does not have long to live! Make a decision! _Came a voice in his head.

The man, heart beginning to thud, finally stepped over to stand in front of the little machine, and looked down.

A small object lay nestled in the metal draw. It glinted under the man's gaze, and looked like a twist of silver, or a drop of starlight. It was barely longer than his little finger, but seemed to have strange decorations embedded within the silver twist of rock.

Carefully, the man picked up the silver twist of rock, and cupped it in his palm. Everything was in place, and he needed to act now.

Pressing the power button on the machine, he waited for a moment in the gloom until the machine's light flickered, and the screen became black.

He wasted no time throwing on the white coat that hung on the back of his work chair, and slipped out of the dark room, making sure to securely close the door behind him and locking it. The results of someone stumbling across his room would be disastrous.

Tightening his hand around the silver rock, he hurried down the hospital's various hallways, twisting and turning and dipping his head towards various nurses and doctors, and sometimes, late-night patients.

He wasn't exactly a doctor, but he was well known and allowed around the hospital due to being friends with one of the top doctors in the hospital.

At last the man arrived in the corridor he was looking for. Walking down the corridor, he found himself at the room that held the child. _Room 204. _

The man stopped, took a deep breath, before raising the fist that wasn't holding the rock, and knocked gently. There was the sound of soft voices, and after a few seconds, the door opened to reveal a lovely face peering round at him.

"Ah. Nurse Kaylee. I was hoping you'd be here", the man said softly.

He glanced down the hallway, which was currently deserted. "May I come in?"

Nurse Kaylee, a slender young woman with brown hair tucked up in a bun, narrowed her eyes. "Sir, if you are here to do what I think you are…." She trailed off.

The man shifted uncomfortably. "Nurse Kaylee, I have to do what I have to do. I know you do not agree to what I am doing, but the child-".

Nurse Kaylee interrupted angrily, her dark eyes flashing.

"He is _dying _sir! He is on life support because he cannot breathe by himself! There is nothing you can do for a dying child except hold his hand and perhaps murmur a few sweet words to him! If you are here for anything other than to comfort him, I suggest you leave!"

The man felt a sense of urgency rise in him. The situation suddenly seemed so much more worse than he had imagined. "Nurse Kaylee, I think you know what I am going to do."

The nurse's face suddenly became drawn and pale. "You wouldn't sir. Please say you won't. He may be dying, but he does not need this."

The man sighed, and wiped his forehead with a hand. "I have chosen, Kaylee. And he is my choice".

The man watched as Nurse Kaylee raised a hand to her mouth, eyes widened and flowing with tears. She turned away for a few seconds, but he didn't miss the way her body shook.

Finally, after a few moments of the sounds of Nurse Kaylee trying to muffle her sobs, the nurse turned back to the man. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she kept her head high.

" Do what you must, sir. But do not blame me if the plan you wanted backfires" she said sharply. Then she pushed past him and strode down the hall.

The man looked down the hallway with baited breath. His heart ached for Nurse Kaylee, but her sorrow didn't stop him from entering the room.

The child on the hospital bed made the breath in his lungs _whoosh _out.

He was unbelievably thin, with cheekbones prominent and long, brunette hair lying limply against his forehead. His skin would have been a lovely cream and roses, but now it was pale as snow and held an ugly gash on the side of his head that had been stitched up. His arms were as thin as sticks, and under his eyes were dark shadows.

And still, despite his various injuries, his obvious lack of malnourishment and affection, he was the chosen boy.

The child who would, unknowingly, hold the weight of destiny on his shoulders.

He would be alone. He would wonder why he was placed in such a perilous situation.

He would forever be Manny's creation.

He was Jack Frost.


	2. Waking from (literally) nowhere

**A/N: Okay, so this is when we really get into the beginning of the story. **

**Here I have really, _really _tried hard to explain what it is like being in my character's (can you guess who it is?) head, although it has proven to be harder that I imagined. I've had to retype this chapter about three times, until my brain decided that I had to post it now! And thankyou for the lovely review _Stellalona (_I hope I got your name correct)! I hope this also interests you ;)**

**Anyways, enough from me! **

**Onto the story! **

**Disclaimer: No, as much as I love and adore the characters, I do not own Rise of the Guardians or it's characters! Pinky Promise! **

Chapter 1: Waking from nowhere 

Darkness. That's the first thing he remembered. A really big, really heavy dark weight crushing him and blocking everything.

What was worse, but not by much, was that he didn't know where he was.

He didn't, _couldn't, _look beyond the black. Sure he tried, but he found that nothing lay beyond the darkness. That nothing came to his mind when he tried to fight the blackness.

No memories existed before the black and the dark.

And he didn't know who he was.

And that was when he felt truly scared.

He had to be someone before all of the darkness, right? He couldn't just be a _nothing_, a thing without purpose. He had to be a _somebody_, a person who meant something to someone.

Where was he? Was he in the place people called Hell? He had heard _someone _mention it. A place where bad people went when they were, well, bad. Something also about sacred words, hands joined together in prayer, everyone having a soul-

Did he have a soul?

Or was he condemned to the blackness around him, never to know what lay beneath him, or above him?

Had he had a life before all of this? Surely he must have!

He tried moving, but there was almost no change. Except for the feeling of being very slowly crushed.

Panic rose in him.

That was when he began to fight. A life was worth living, and he wasn't about to go down without knowing he had tried everything!

The struggle was on, with him fighting as hard as he could, and the blackness _nothing _trying to crush him into oblivion. He forced his limbs to move, even though they lay by his side, useless in the dark.

His strength was failing, slipping away from him like minnows in the water.

The darkness seemed to be winning for one terrifying moment and it began to slowly crush him. It_ burned_ when it touched him, and he gave an invisible, silent, bubbly scream that bounced off the blackness and disappeared.

He dug deep within himself, and found resources of strength buried within him and he thrashed violently. Arched his back, trying to heave the black off him.

But everything around him was thick and heavy and nearly impossible to throw off. The dark curled around him like a thick blanket, trapping him, concealing him.

He thrashed when the darkness began to sink _into him_, trendils of fear stealing its way up into his heart. Bubbles seemed to rise from his mouth, and the darkness tightened around him.

He screamed again, his voice once more going unheard and invisible.

_Someonehelpsomeonehelpmesomeonehelp-_

And then, just as everything seemed lost, he found himself floating.

He was floating upwards, leaving the trendils of fear behind, watching them shy away and sink to the bottom of what he thought was a dark pool of water.

What was happening? Had he won a battle he thought was impossible?

He looked up, a sluggish movement and saw something flickering above him. A pale moonbeam. Light. Light!

Beautiful, silver light. Light that touched him, and seemed to pull him closer, like a mother with an injured child.

He tried to reach out and grasp onto the light. But his limbs were still limp and wooden by his side, so he resorted to simply looking at the light. Burning the memory, his so far only happy memory, into his brain.

To his joy, he kept floating upwards until he was bathing in the light. It curled around him, soothed him and caressed his skin with pools of hope.

For a few moments he stayed like that, and only at the back of his mind did he wonder if he would ever surface.

But then he felt something above him crack, like ice, and he surfaced into the brightness of the light.

He felt something in him kick like a startled rabbit, and then begin to pound away at his skin. _Thump-thump. Thump-thump. _And he opened his mouth and inhaled deeply for the first time on his own. Air, sweet and welcoming, rushed down his throat and into him.

He found that the light was everywhere, and any fears he had had vanished.

He could hear voices around him, high pitched and blurred beyond any words he could recognise. His ears were ringing loudly, blocking all other sound out except for the voices that hummed quietly in the background.

He felt someone come forward and touch his arm gently. Unexpectedly and automatically, his arm jerked under the warm touch, quivered once, and then lay still by his side once more.

Joy soared in him. He could _move! _

He blinked, once, for his vision was blurry and awful. He could make out shapes moving around him, but he couldn't quite figure out _who _they were exactly.

So he waited for everything to clear.

Eventually, his vision stopped wobbling and churning, and the pounding object within him slowed down and started a gentle rhythm. An ache that had suddenly cropped up subsided to a dull throb, and he found himself looking across at a blank white wall.

Tears sprung to his eyes almost immediately. He could _see! _

He heard, through the ringing of his ears, what seemed to be the shuffling of shoes and the voices, now people, rushed forward, eager and so happy that he couldn't help but burst into tears.

They were real! Everything around him was real!

They were real. He was REAL and alive and a person that had feelings and a heart and a _life_!

He wasn't just an invisible person choking on the darkness, but an actual person who could _breathe, _who could _see _and who would, hopefully, eventually _hear! _

_He was real. _


End file.
